


Cruel

by White_Rabbits_Clock



Series: The Strangest Frames [2]
Category: The Hobbit
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angry! Bilbo, Animal Traits AU, I killed Bofur, Noncannonical, Not sorry either, Shamed! Thorin, almost
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:28:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3426188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Rabbits_Clock/pseuds/White_Rabbits_Clock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>UPDATE 9.18.15: SCHOOL HAS STARTED. I HAVE TO CAP OFF EVERY WORK SO I CAN WORK OUT SOME REGULARITY FOR UPDATING AGAIN. THIS WORK IS OFFICIALLY ON HIATUS. <br/>The Battle may be over, but the war continues on.<br/>Thorin, on waking from his gold lust, cut his hair over the personal guilt and shame of his actions towards Bilbo. This opens up a damn of political problems made worse by his unwillingness to buy his council, as his grandfather did.<br/>Bilbo, when he emerges from his coma in Thranduil's realm, is conflicted on where he should go and what he should do when he senses trouble (Azog) on the horizon, and returns to the Lonely Mountain (and the wreckage of his family), to end the conflict once and for all.<br/>He'll need to work with the dwarves to do that, but he'll need to forgive them too, because without it, the Mountain will fall, and everyone with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, this is another piece in my Minotaur AU so if you haven't read The Fault of Appearances and you're going to read Cruel, you'll get confused. Other than that, enjoy!

 

_Nile tilts his head to the sky, stopping in his long run across the middle earth. His sides are lathered in sweat. His fur, bag, and weapons are the only things clothing him. He is, without a doubt, too late now. He feels it thousands of miles away, outside the Shire._

_He pulls his bag from his back when he finds a river and plunges in quickly, washing the coating of travel from himself before dressing and walking, dark and proud, through the shire. He makes it to the home of Bungo and Belladonna Baggins and knows immediately that the pair of loving creatures he left his unofficial son with are both gone._

_There’s a fusty one trying to sell their things. Nile makes his way up the aisle between two seated crowds of hobbits. A twinge of grief for two people he never spoke to runs through his heart. They may not have known the nomadic shaman, but he definitely knew them. He wouldn’t have left his little sparrow with them otherwise._

_These interlopers (many of which he recognizes) turn in their fragile little chairs and push themselves back from him because he is a scary creature. Big and broad, all black and fully grown, this is the minotaur they tell their faunts about to keep them abed._

_He is nightmare incarnate, to these gentle creatures. Yet, he would never raise a hand to them. Many of them will laugh later on at the dressing down he gives Lobelia Sackville-Baggins when he demands she put everything back the way it was._

_When he leaves, a great lock has been added to the round green door, and the scratch on it has been taken note of and concealed. No other exit opens, and the only key to Bungo’s beloved gift is around the neck of the great beast as he picks up his run again, headed to where his child is at, nearly dead._

_Someone hurt him. Now they’ll pay._

 


	2. Cut, but Not Dried

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin cuts his hair, Bifur deals with his own guilt, and Bilbo sleeps on under Thranduil's careful watch.

THORIN

There’s not much to say about what I did that isn’t encompassed by the word _cruel_. There isn’t a punishment that would be enough to make up for what I did to Bilbo. Standing here, looking at my restored throne room, Dori telling me how many miners have been able to return to work, seems like something of a joke to me.

It’s been a month since the Battle, and Bilbo could be dead, but I’m looking at a throne I can’t quite bring myself to want anymore.

“He’ll come back if he wishes to.” Dori says, reading my mind the way he’s read his brother’s so many times. It gives me new appreciation to child-rearing on top of what I gained raising my sister sons.

“Or he can’t come back.” I say quietly to him. There are people milling around. Some of them are waiting to talk to me. Others are doing the final clean up. Dori sighs.

“You’re going to run yourself ragged over this.” I don’t answer. It’s not like I should get any better than that. Dori just shakes his head and heads out, no doubt to seek out Dwalin. It’s a rare day that my cousin isn’t with me, but in a fit of paranoia I left him watching my less able-bodied nephews. I can practically smell Dori’s worry on him

THRANDUIL

Bilbo’s face is as serene as it was when I found him deep inside my newly healed forest. That’s part of the problem. It isn’t just his face, it’s his whole body. His wounds are the same as they were a month ago.

Bilbo Baggins is deep within a coma.

 

NILE

The trolls my son killed were a nice touch.

BIFUR

It’s your fault, you know. I’m no longer sure if the voice in my head (I’ve named him Lithur) is talking about Bilbo’s disappearance or Bofur’s death.

 _Both, you soft-headed fool. None of this would have happened if you’d been better._ I put more strength into shoveling a large pile of dragon crap into the old cart. I can’t listen now when my heart never stops hurting, just as my head has from the moment I woke up all those years ago. I can’t listen now, when it’d be so easy to just lay down and die. It’s so easy to believe Lithur, though.

Then the two of them will pop into my head. Several nights during the journey Bilbo would sleep with us; a ball of warmth, giving as good as he got heat-wise. When morning dawned, I opened my eyes to see the two of them curled the closes among us. It was endearing. I made a carving of them and gave it to Bofur. He loved it. When he showed it to Bilbo, the little mintra had giggled with unbridled happiness. I got a hug out of it.

 _He’d still love it if you’d been better._ So I don’t listen, just focus on the task at hand.

_That’s all you’ll ever be good at; a piece of muscle._

THORIN

It’s evening in the mountain and I’m staring at the mirror I usually kept a ratty piece of linen over. It’s that hard to look at myself these days. Behind me, the door opens and shuts as Dwalin makes his entrance, and he stops at the sight of me.

“Thorin…” I meet his eyes in the mirror and turn around.

“Will you bear witness?” The briefest of hesitations flashes across his face, and I know he’s trying to decide if stopping me is the right or wrong thing. Then he nods. We stand in silence, with me staring at the wall. It is only when Balin has entered been asked the same question do I turn back to the mirror and  raise the small, sharp knife in my right hand and take the hair above my temple in my left.

Slowly, I cut an inch above the scalp, carefully stacking each chunk of cut hair in the velvet box I had sought out earlier. I can’t stop the ache or the guilt and shame. I can’t undo my sins and I can’t wipe the stain of madness from the Battle of the Five Armies, but I won’t hide it either. When it’s all gone. I set the knife down and show the box to my three witnesses. They nod.

Later, Balin will make it look pretty on paper. Now, though, it’s a personal sin I’ve committed, and a personal apology I will make, though Bilbo may very well be dead.

When I close the lid on the box, Dwalin moves towards the door and my nephews, while Balin goes to my writing desk and sits down. There’s a look on his face I can’t quite read

“If he comes back, what are you going to tell him?” What am I going to tell him about the mess that is my counsel? What am I going to tell him about the rumors circulating? What am I going to tell him about the inevitable shitstorm I’ve just cut loose for myself? I give a bitter laugh.

“Which part?”

“Your judgement.” I chose the worst time possible to do this. I should have waited until my power was more secure, until my sister sons could protect themselves and yet-

“No dwarf who puts off payment until a convenient time is a dwarf worth the ground you walk on, never mind the throne they took time to restore.” It seems to appease Balin, who just bends his head back to his work.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N  
> -So for those of you who were totally confused, Thranduil is inside Bilbo's mind, and the ledge they sit on is actually the border between life and death. If Bilbo jumps, he dies, but if Thranduil jumps, he'll enter into more of an eternal sleep.  
> -Bifur's Lithur was there inside Bifur's head when he first woke after his injury. Their relationship is more of a love-hate thing, because sometimes Lithur is the voice of reason (or visa versa), other times he just echos Bifur and makes whatever he's thinking more extreme. This is one of those times.  
> -Feel free to comment if there's anything else that confuses you.)


	3. Saying Hello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin gets ambushed, has an argument with Dwalin, and sees Bilbo after months of believing him dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I've been working on some new art, so I'll try to have it posted as soon as possible.

_Months later…_

THRANDUIL

The next time I tread the landscape of Bilbo’s dreams, he’s not sitting, he’s standing. Today is the day, then.

BILBO

The moment I realized why the pictures are blurry and the words illegible is an instrumental one. You cannot see through tears. I turn and walk the other way. On the way, I pass a blurry column that doesn’t really fit, but I don’t bother to try and make it clearer. I just keep walking towards the door. It isn’t very hard to step through.

The room I wake up in is natural and lovely, the bed very soft and the tall glass window panes are cut in a distinctly elven style; all swirling lines and crystal elegance. They spill a lovely evening light across the room, lighting up everything in warm pinks and browns.

I make to sit up, but it hurts. A lancing pain shoots through my leg, and I make a noise in my throat. I had not been expecting that. Then he is there, leaning over me, tugging the blankets back to show me why I can’t move carelessly.

He’s just as ethereal as he was last time. He’s also just as cold. All the fire from before is gone, though. It is only when I’m propped into a sitting position and everything stops looking so hazy do I meet his eyes for the second time.

“Bilbo.” He says, like we’re friends.

“Thranduil.” I say, like we’re not.

I really can’t tell anymore. My eyes wander to the window and suddenly, something nearly chokes me. I surge up and try to see over the tops of the trees to behond and shitmotherfucker, there’s something out there, and it reeks of death. I give a soft laugh.

Let the games begin anew, then.

_A few days later..._

I watch the trees around me, aware that Thranduil’s power surrounds me. I still have a limp in my step, but I can move now. I won’t stay longer in Thranduil’s care than I have to. So I have a cane that aids me as I walk to the forest boundaries and out into the air.

Looking up, the sky is so very blue and clear and cold that it hurts to breath it and it makes me happy enough to stop and stare for a while. As I did months ago, I begin the walk to Erebor.

THORIN

There’s so much to do, just now. Another mining tunnel collapsed. There’s been one injury and one death. I’m supposed to read the report. In a few hours or so, I’ll have to inspect the tunnels themselves to see if it was anyone’s fault.

Right now, though, Open Court has an hour and a half left. Two farmers are arguing amongst themselves, completely forgetting the fact that they came to Open Court so they didn’t have to. As far as I can tell, they’ve each got land and it overlaps. The map in front of me tells me that this particular section the lands “overlap” on is the part that’s taken for the granaries. Oh, gee, because I didn’t see that coming.

I sit back and let them call each other progressively worse names while I carefully expand the part they’re arguing over on the map (it’s one of theirs, anyways). I clear my throat, waiting for them to silence themselves. The arguing doesn’t stop, though. I stand up and make my way to them. When I am right in their faces and they still haven’t heard me, I bark at them.

“Shut up!” Showing them the map with its corrections, I tell them what I think.

“This section belongs to BOTH of you for the time being and every part I’ve shown here will go towards your taxes. Now get out.” I turn from them as proudly as I can and stalk up and back to the dias. Open Court, my ass. More like Open Cheat-Your-Neighbors.

The next two to come in are two guild officials (good grief, they’re long winded). I listen to them ploy me with reasons why they should each have control of a small group of forges. I settle the dispute as soon as possible before bolting up and tossing an excuse over my shoulder before striding out of the door.

There’s only one place I can justify being right now, and that’s the collapsed tunnel. Quickly, lest one of my less-than-pleasant council members finds a way  to drag me back, I make my way to the tunnel, report in hand.

According to the map and the report, I should be standing in front of the collapsed entrance to a recently opened vein of copper and yet the jewels that wink just inside the entrance tells me that this is no copper vein. It’s not even a downed vein. It’s my first hint that something is wrong.

The second is that the guards who I had thought were standing further inside the mine entrance are, in fact, not there at all. I quickly turn my head to take in the whole room and wouldn’t you know, there’s a group of five dwarves standing too far into the shadows for me to have seen when I got here.

They move quietly and efficiently, surrounding me in the broad hallway. The five of them have spears, and they corral me the way Dwalin and I have done to orcs dozens of times. I bend my knees and spread my feet, lifting my arms away from my body. It’s going to be a bitch in these clothes, but it’ll be manageable.

I’m facing the mine, and the one standing in the entrance takes a step towards me, spear poked out threateningly. The goal is to push me back into the two behind me. As it is,  I’ll have to make a mistake for that to happen. Spend long enough in Open Court, and you’re itching for any kind of physical conflict.

The one in the front takes another step forwards. I step forwards and meet him and slash at his hand which is too far up on the shaft of his spear. I open up a deep gash across his palm.   
A curse comes from the bastard’s mouth before the one in my left peripheral  charges me. NOW I step back, twisting at the woosh of air.The spear goes right by me, just barely grazing m flank before I cut into him, slashing low at one of his calves.

He cuts off a scream and suddenly guards fill the hallway, and Dwalin is by my side.

“Somehow I thought you’d be in Open Court for another hour or two. Yet, here you are, getting ambushed.” The sarcastic tone of Dwalin’s voice is enough to peak my temper.

“I was taking care of it.”

“I realize that, but it doesn’t stop you from-” Dwalin turns around and plucks one of the downed dwarves from the floor before shoving him in my face, “-attracting attention, so if you could please-” He tosses the dwarf to his guards, “-not wander off!” I lift my chin and glare at him.

“You sit in Open Court all day and then tell me not to wander off. And just to make things clear, I was NOT wandering off! The report was legitimate!”

“Oh, yeah, real legitimate. Dis would have your ass for bullshit like this.”

“Again: Open. Court.”

“Again: Dis.” I open my mouth, really ready to go off, and then another dwarf comes barreling in through Dwalin’s people.

“King Thorin, sir!” He stops five feet away and salutes.

“Stand down. Report.” He drops his arm but maintains his stiff posture.

“I’ve been told that a one Bilbo Baggins is at the front gate and putting up a fight, sir!” I’m already running, knowing Dwalin’s behind me. We rush through the tunnels and out into the city. In the wide main street, a few dozen guards are trying to subdue a single creature.

“STOP!” I holler out, accompanied by Dwalin’s stand down. They part and back away. There, leaning heavily against a wooden cane, is a very worn and cantankerous looking Bilbo Baggins. My breath catches in my throat, as his eyes take me in. He mutters something in his mother tongue, Int’at.

“I thought you were dead.” I say, quietly, when Bilbo gets near me. He stops in front of me and says quietly, so that no one else can hear.

“Would it kill you to say hello properly?” The hardness in his voice gives away the fact that he has not forgotten. I suppose I wouldn't have it differently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N  
> -Bilbo isn't going to be as forgiving in this verse as he is in most verses, so look out for some angst.
> 
> Please tell me what you think.


	4. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Bilbo and Thranduil first meet, Thranduil says, "it's like getting lost."  
> I had to do the art for it...

" scr>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have writer's block, guys, so hopefully this will tide you all over...


	5. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picks up roughly a year after Bilbo's return to Erebor. A council of war has been called, and Nile finally gets to where he's going. Thorin has earned back a small portion of trust.

THORIN

“Let me make things clear: something is on the horizon, and it’s not something that can’t get past those gates.” I don’t stop him from talking, nor do I try to apologise. It’s not what Bilbo needs at the moment.

“Is that why you’re back?” I ask, because if what Bilbo’s saying is true, then we need to be absolutely certain of where we stand with each other.

“Yes. And I won’t be staying a moment longer.” I nod again. There’s a small gap of silence there, and it’s silence that kills, sometimes.

“What did you sense?” Here Bilbo looks at my cheek; the closest I’ve ever seen him come to looking me or anyone in the eye.

“Branenwyn has surfaced, and he’s stronger than I remember.” I take a moment to calm the surge of memories bouncing around in my mind. Branenwyn, who stole the life of the child before me and children before him. Branenwyn, who took it all from me and mine. Branenwyn, who drove Bilbo straight to me. Me, who drove Bilbo away.

“Do you know what he’s planning to do?”

“He’ll make an army, and lead an attack.”

“The orcs won’t follow Branenwyn.”

“They’ll follow Azog.”

“...Yes.”

“I suggest you encourage as much trade as possible. When Branenwyn attacks, he stops for nothing and no one.” I can feel the start of something deadly here.

NILE

It has taken longer than expected to reach the mountain city of Erebor. Months longer. As far as the eye can see, there is a caravan overflowing with any product that can be stored for long periods of time. Dozens of carts bearing everything from pickled and jellied fruits and vegetables to arrows and axes. Erebor is a city preparing for war, and my son is in the middle of it.

I walk next to one of the wagons, taking what shade I can find, and in this way gain easy entrance to Erebor. Quickly, I leave the wagon caravan and make my way closer and closer to where my son is; his presence is a bright and shining thing.

I walk to the guards that guard the massive, stone double doors. They look to me, and hold their spears across the entrance.

“Who are you?”

“I am here to see Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.” They look at each other and back to me.

“He’s in a war council right now.” I lean closer to the guards, letting my presence overwhelm them in the way that only shamans can.

“Then tell him Nile is here.” The doors suddenly swing open, pulled from the inside.

BILBO

Thranduil is, as always, an annoying shitter. He’s sitting there like he’s better than everyone else, his eyes glued on me.

“If Erebor is to fall from another orcan attack, than I see no reason to aid it. The last time war and elves were spoken in the same sentence, it did not end too well.” the Elvhenking wants payment, as always, and he’s using the Battle of the Five Armies to get it. I look to thorin, angry that the Thranduil refuses to see that the arkenstone is gone from his mind.

Thorin’s hair has grown a inches in all the months since he’s cut it. He’s thinner, almost as thin as he got when he had the Arkenstone. I keep seeing the Company try to make him eat, but he forgets it’s there, always looking at the numbers, trying to make sure dwarves won’t starve when winter and siege rolls around.

I have not forgiven him, nor do I trust him with my everything, but I trust him as a warlord. That is enough for me to vouch for him, at the moment. Thorin raises his chin and meets the elvhen king eye for haunted eye.

“You seem to think this is a war between dwarves and orcs. I can assure you, it’s not.” Thorin looks to me, inviting me to explain my own unfortunately personal proximity. I affix my gaze to the table and open my mouth.

“Branenwyn, my former caretaker, created Smaug. He is not happy that he lost Erebor and the horde it contains. He will, in time, raise an army, and come for Erebor. then he will come for Mirkwood. and Laketown and Dale. And the Iron Hills. He will spread across the continent for any and all riches and spoils. It’s not a war between orcs and dwarves, it’s a war between us all.”

“Somehow, I doubt that one minotaur- much less a shaman- is behind the your downfall.” Thranduil’s comment prompts a glare.

“Keep in mind that I am but a minotaur and, as has been proven to you, underestimating me and my kind is a fast way to die.”

“Seems fair enough.” Bard muses from his place at the table. A pressure grows in my chest without warning. It’s the lovely, cooing warmth of a hug. It’s the undeniable beckoning of a tide. I look up towards the door and point at it.

“Open it.” The guards on the inside hurry to obey, only to reveal a dwarf.

He is strange. His skin is the ebony beauty only found in the deep heat. His lips are full and his eyes are tilted upwards at the edges. Like me his eyes are gold, and his horns amber and black.

He is a dwarf, but I knew him as a minotaur.

_“Nile.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's block! I've beaten it! *pumps fist and dances like five year old on sugar high*


	6. Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is guilty. Nile is guilty. We're all flipping guilty. Oh, yes, and Nile is sexy. That, too.

THORIN

 

Bilbo’s Nile is… striking. His skin is a deep ebony, and his hair has been caught up in long strands of knots- organized chaos. They spill down his back and reach his waist. He moves with the fluency of someone constantly ready for battle- expecting it, really- but not tightly, as though he’s confident enough in his own skin.

Bilbo is, before anyone can blink, across the stone room, standing before this somewhat beastly creature. Their foreheads touch, and the charms and feathers and things caught up in Nile’s hair move with him.

“I missed you,  seun .” Son.

“Heh. It took you long enough,  Pleegvadar .” Foster father.

“You joke, but you’re a hard child to find.” Nile’s deep, accented voice fills the room, though the two of them speak quietly. They stay like that a moment, just breathing, and then Nile stands again and glares at me. Oh, shit.

 

…

 

Sixteen dead. I walk down the row and try to identify each one. All of them shouldn’t have been in this battle. That much is for certain. In fact, these don’t even look like soldiers… I lower the last sheet and turn around. I need to speak to Nori.

 

…

 

Nori is doing his thing, which is to say, stalking people for shits and giggles. Right now, he’s following Nile. I still have to deal with Nile. I run my fingers through my hair. I keep forgetting that I’ve cut it.

Nori turns around and sees me. Apparently, he really doesn’t want to see what Nile looks like when he’s angry. He’s at my side in just a moment.

“I have something to show you.” I lead him back down to the hall and start to flick the blankets off each body.

“Not a soldier. Ditto. Ditto. Ditto.” Nori’s mouth has tightened. “Find who’s killing off my people.” I’m angry right now, because these dwarves are barely more than children. They should not have been out on the open plains with no guard, but they were. Those orcs, I think, were supposed to be there. For that, atonement is in order.

Someone will die, by the time this is over.

 

…

 

“I would have words with you.” I turn around and meet Nile face to face, and it looks like he’s staring into my soul. Let him see it, then. I’m more than ready for this. Niles eyes, a luminescent gold, are like abysses that I get lost in over and over again. Shit, and I thought Bilbo was bad.

I get the uncomfortable feeling that he knows exactly where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing from birth to now. Nile blinks, and it feels like some kind of spell has been broken. 

“Remember that the minotaur you hurt is my child, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. It would not go well for you to repeat such a foolish mistake. I can’t argue with Bilbo’s father, for Mahal’s sake, so I just nod.

Besides, it’s not like I want to hurt Bilbo again.

Nile nods back and moves off, his back straight, head high- the way Bilbo walks. I was wondering who taught him that.

For a moment, standing here while people move around in the next hallway going about their collective and respective business, I feel lost. It’s almost as if it never happened.

Being in Erebor has been a must for years and years and years. I never stopped wanting to be here. I also never thought I’d almost destroy the people I was supposed to protect. I never thought the elvhenking would be on the side of right, opposite of me. I never thought I’d lose myself the way I swore I never would.

It makes me wonder if we are all doomed.

I turn my feet towards the treasure hall and watch as people sort through the mounds of gold. Maybe we are all doomed, with such a thing in hand. Maybe… Durins were never meant to have so much.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that I’m right.

NO dwarf should ever have this much. I’ve reached the point when wealth is no longer an ally. It’s time to do away with so much excess. I go to find Balin.

 

BALIN

 

“How do you intend to do that? If Erebor goes through a drought- which it inevitably will- and the crops continue to fail, you’ll have to trade.”

“I was thinking of putting…a restraint on my ability to spend things. And a restraint on every future king’s ability to spend things.” I know Thorin’s been very troubled since the Journey, but I didn’t expect this one. Still, he has a point. I walk to my desk and take out paper, wet the tip of my quill and look at him.

“What did you have in mind?”

 

NILE

 

I was here, a long time ago. I was here when Thorin’s grandfather was on the throne. I was here when the dwarves died. I am the one that killed them. I can still remember it- that heavy blanket over my mind that stopped me from thinking. It told me to take take take and kill kill kill but it never really told me how the fuck I was supposed to sleep afterwards.

God, it was so much worse when the blanket fell off. When it slid down around me and eventually dissipated entirely and I woke up naked, with burned and crushed and bloody dwarves all around the mountain. I remember walking everywhere among the half rotted corpses, committing each wasted face to memory (not that there was enough face to even memorize. It was mostly burns and maggots.)

The smell of rot and my own shit (dragon shit) choked me all the way from the top of the mountain to the bottom, where the corpses were absent entirely. These levels are where the escaping dwarves actually started to live. I think I cried when I got there, because my face was wet. I cried in part because of everything I did. I also cried because here is where death didn’t reach.

Later, I remember leaving Erebor through the crushed main gates. In the entrance, I turned and regarded my work- my legacy, really, because I did not wish to live, after that. It took a great deal of time in which I just barely stayed alive to remember that this is not all my doing. To remember that there is a way to… not redeem, that’s for certain. I think it’s closer to paying back a small amount of the massive debt to the people of Erebor.

Specifically, it’s king, who I’ve been making vague threats to. He doesn’t seem overly interested in beheading me, but it could be that Bilbo hasn’t told him. I shake my head. I know the look Bilbo gets whenever Thorin crosses his mind. At one point, my child trusted him implicitly. He would have had to tell him. He couldn’t have kept it a secret- that he was one of the dragons of Erebor. He would have explained the whole thing. He would have hoped for the best. 

I suppose he got it.

I try and locate him, and realize that he’s very deep underground- levels below me, in fact. Well, then. What could Bilbo be doing there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted a picture of Nile in the last story. Sorry this chapter took so long. It was like shitting out bricks.


End file.
